


That's What Packs Are For

by SabbyStarlight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Comforting Stiles Stilinski, First Aid, Fluff, Gen, However you wanna read it, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Stiles/Derek bromance, injured derek, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4697996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles takes care of Derek after a fight with a rogue omega ends badly.  </p><p>Shameless hurt comfort fluff, because I still miss Hoechlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's What Packs Are For

**Author's Note:**

> “Because I still really miss Hoechlin,” is becoming a recurring theme in my stories. But I still REALLY. MISS. HOECHLIN. And season 5a was lacking so much fluff. Hopefully if anyone other than me has been going through Derek and fluff withdrawals this will help.

It was a stupid idea really.  They should have never rushed in to the old abandoned factory without a plan in place.  The omega that had wandered into town a few weeks ago though, was violent and destructive.  He had been causing havoc all throughout Beacon Hills so when a call had come into the sheriff's office claiming to have seen a “two-legged wolf man” running into the old textile plant, the sheriff had called Derek, and Derek got the pack together.  The group entered the building with no more advice than a “Watch each other’s backs and be careful!” from Lydia, who was in the parking lot on lookout.  So really, with their luck, things should have ended even worse.  They were lucky.  Well, except for Derek.   

   


They found the rogue wolf easily enough, apparently living on the run and not having access to a shower for months made him quite easy to track by scent.  He was hiding up on the second floor and after a quick fight, the omega was caught.  Derek had pinned his arms behind him, keeping him on his feet while Scott calmly explained that he needed to leave town, willingly or by force, he would be gone tonight.  Stiles should have know it was too easy, he looked around at Kira who had lowered her sword, Liam’s eyes distractedly watching the path of an owl flying past the window behind Derek’s head, and thought how they were never this lucky.  The omega’s head was bowed, he stood silently, not fighting Derek’s grip, seemingly listening to Scott’s every word.  So it came as a shock to all of them when he suddenly growled feral and vicious, and threw back his head with all his might, crashing into Derek’s face and sending the older man toppling off balance.   

 

It wouldn’t have been a problem if Derek hadn’t been standing so close to the ledge of a rickety old metal stair railing leading down to the main floor.  Or if the railing hadn’t broken.  Still, a one story fall shouldn’t have been enough to  even knock the wind out of the man, so their focus turned to the omega, currently crashing through the window to freedom.  Scott and Liam immediately ran after him, deciding to just chase him until   he was out of  Beacon  County.  Kira ran down  stairs   to her car to follow, offering them a ride back home, leaving Stiles to check on Derek.   

   


He made his way down the spiraling staircase, shining his flashlight around the enormous room, the beam reflecting on the shards of glass scattered everywhere.  He didn’t see him at first, in fact he was almost ready to give up and assume he had take off after Liam and Scott, when he heard the groan.  Not seeing any leather-clad shadows lurking anywhere, he shone his light up to the balcony, finding the gaping hole in the railing where Derek had crashed through.  Slowly, he traced the path the older man would have fallen down with his flashlight’s beam, leading not to the floor as he expected, but to what appeared to be a pile of old windows.  A pile of now broken windows with Derek laying in the middle.   

   


Turns out that the city had recently replaced all the windows on the first floor of the building, hoping to cut down on vandalism.  Because the factory was so old though, the windows had been saved by the historical society.  They probably wouldn’t want them now that there was a werewolf sized hole in all of them.  Which was why there was currently a bloody, half naked Derek Hale sprawled face down across Stiles’s bed.   

   


“Stiles.  Hurry it up.”  Derek called.  His voice, face buried in a pillow, sounded more animal than human.   

   


“I’m working on it, calm down…”  Stiles answered, rummaging around his room trying to find the supernatural first aid kit Deaton had helped him fix up a few months ago.  “You know,” he continued, digging through a pile of shoes under his bed, “If you were more graceful like me, we wouldn’t have this problem.”   

   


Derek snorted in response and Stiles smiled, hop ing   that their usual banter would keep them both at ease.   

   


“Where did I put it?”  Stiles whispered to himself, slowly turning in a circle scanning his room. 

   


“Probably in the bathroom.  Where most people keep first aid kits.”  Derek replied.   

   


“Oh!  Yeah!”  Stiles ran out the door, Derek wincing as the knob collided with the wall behind it and shook the entire room, and returned seconds later clutching what was originally intended to be a fishing tackle box. 

 

“Okay…”  Stiles started, dragging his desk chair as close to his bed as he could get it and opening the box onto his nightstand.  He spread a towel out on the floor at his feet to drop the glass shards  onto  and stared at the  expance  of Derek’s back, the spattering of glass fragments preventing him from healing.  “So I just… Pull them out, right?”   

   


“Mhmm.”  Derek answered, dreading the am ount  of time he knew this was going to take.   

Without thinking any more about it, Stiles reach out a hand and tugged at one of the larger shards of glass, protruding from Derek’s side; lodged in the space behind his hip bone.  The piece came out with a sickening sound and a trickle of blood.  Derek gasped, his head raising from the pillow and fists clenching tight.  

“Damn it, Stiles, warn a guy next time!”  Derek growled, eyebrows knitted together in pain.   

   


“Sorry, sorry.”  Stiles gently ran his thumb over the older man’s mending skin.  “There, already healing.  You’re fine.  That’s one down, four hundred and ninety nine to go.”   

   


Derek groaned and flopped his head back down onto Stiles’s pillow, groaning again from the waves of pain the movement caused.  “Just get on with it.  And don’t use your hands, you’ll get all cut up too and I don’t feel like driving you to the ER tonight.  And put on gloves, who knows what kind of crap was on those windows.”   

   


“Alright, here we go.”  Stiles answered, stre  tching   a glove on one hand and picking up a pair of what appeared to be huge tweezers from the kit.  “Werewolf first aid, take two.”  He braced the ungloved hand again’s Derek’s skin, trying to find a space free of injury, and used the other to tug out the shards of glass as gently as he could.  Each piece he pulled out was dropped onto the towel at his feet and as he moved on to the next he would rest his free hand over the healing cuts, thumb moving back and forth over the mending skin, attempting to offer some relief.   

   


The work was painstakingly slow, starting from the waistband of Derek’s jeans all the way up.  Two hours later Stiles set the tweezers down and stretched his cramping muscles, trying not to complain about his own pain when he knew that Derek’s was so much worse.  The older man turned his head slowly so Stiles could see part of his face.  “How much left?”  he asked quietly.   

   


“I think I’ve got it all from your back and arms.”  Stiles replied, cracking his knuckles.  “There’s one that looks like it’s stuck in your ankle pretty good and I see a couple on your neck.”   

   


“Those are gonna be fun.”  Derek said with a sigh.   

   


“Yeah…”  Stiles agreed, hating that he was causing even more pain.  “You wanna take a break?  Rest for a few minutes?”   

   


“No.”  Derek’s answer was immediate and final.  “Just get it over with.”  He  reburied  his face in the pillow.   

   


Stiles started on his neck, placing his free hand against the base and being as careful as he could, knowing that these ones would hurt worse.  “Deep breath,”  He ordered.  Derek complied and before he could exhale Stiles yanked the largest piece of glass out quickly.  The exhale was a shudder, a groan muffled by Stiles’s pillow.  The next intake of breath shak y   and quick.  “Sorry,”  he apologized, wishing for the millionth time that he could take the werewolve’s pain.  “It sucks but it makes sure you stay breathing if you do it that way.  Little trick Melissa learned while Dad held me down during my booster shots.  Keeping the oxygen flowing makes the pain fade faster.”  He kept talking, trying to dull the hurt his hands were causing with his words.  Ignoring the fact that each piece he pulled out now was causing Derek to flinch, the way both of his hands had grabbed bunches of sheet and were squeezing until   the skin between his knuckles were as white as the fabric.   

   


“One more,”  He said quietly, thumb making gentle circles across the older man’s neck, rubbing away smears of blood.  Derek gave a small nod, testing the regained movement of his neck, and took another deep breath.  The final piece slid free and this time Derek’s exhale sounded more like a sigh of relief.   

   


“K.”  Stiles took a breath and stood up, wielding his tweezers again, as he walked over to the foot of the bed.  “We get this one out and we’re done.”  The final shard of glass was huge, it had slid down and gotten stuck inside Derek’s boot so it was embedded deep into the tender flesh between the tendon and joint at the back of his ankle.  “Damn.”  He whispered.  “This one is really gonna hurt, man.  I’m sorry.”   

   


“I trust you.”  Derek answered, voice thin and laced with pain and exhaustion.  He couldn’t even find the will to turn his head this time, body completely drained of energy, adrenaline supply having ran out somewhere around the three hundredth piece of glass.   

   


Stiles began carefully rolling up his pants leg.  “Just, try not to kick me, okay?”   

   


“Yeah,”  Derek answered, calf muscle tensing as Stiles placed his hand on it in an attempt to hold it still.   

   


“Ready?”  He asked softly, wondering why had put this one off till last.  He should have just gotten the worst over with first.     

   


Derek gave a terse nod as Stiles took a breath and pulled.  The shard was so deep that it actually took some strength to remove.  In reality it only took seconds to twist and tug out of Derek’s flesh, but to the two men it felt like it took hours.  Stiles mentally swore never to mention the actual whimper of pain his pillow failed to muffle and instead focused on wiping away the trail of blood trickling down Derek’s foot.  Once he had given the man some time to regain his composure, Stiles stood, placing a gentle hand between Derek’s shoulder blades.   

   


“You okay?”  He asked, voice barely above a whisper.   

   


“I will be.”  Derek took a breath and  slowly turned his head to fully look at Stiles.  “Thanks.”   

   


“No problem,”  Stiles answered, his fingers drifting up unti  l they found themselves carding through the coarse dark hair at the nape of Derek’s neck.  His eyes closed, finally able to relax for the first time in hours, but moments later they opened with a groan.  “I need to go.  I’m hogging your bed and bleeding all over your sheets.  You’ve done more than you had to…”  He started to sit up.   

   


“What do you think you’re doing?!”  Stiles exclaimed, gently pushing down on the other man’s shoulders unti  l he was laying back down.  “It’s like, 4 am.  No way am I sleeping for two hours, the bed’s yours.  And the sheets are washable.  You don’t hear me complaining about all the blood you spilled all over the seat of my Jeep do you?  And that’s my JEEP!  Trust me, I could care less about the darn sheets.  Lay back down and rest.”   

   


“K.”  Derek answered, giving in.  Too tired and too com fortable   to stand his ground.  Or even stand up, at the moment.   

   


Stiles smiled at the werewolf, soundly   asleep now, and began cleaning up quietly.  The bloody glove was put in a trash bag, along with the towel full of glass shards.  He washed the tweezers down with an alcohol wipe and put them back in the first aid kit, returning it to its home under the bathroom sink.   

   


While he was there he soaped up a warm washcloth and brought it back to his room.  He hated to wake Derek, but he knew he would be more com fortable  in the end, so he gently began washing away all the traces of blood.   

   


“Watareyoudoin…?”  Derek sleepily questioned, not bothering to even open his eyes.   

   


“Shh, just making sure I didn’t miss anything.  Go back to sleep.”  Stiles whispered, moving from his neck down to his back.  Derek was out before he could reply.   

   


“The sheets will have to wait till tomorrow.”  Stiles thought to himself as he quickly changed into pajamas and unfolded the blanket from the foot of his bed and carefully draped it across Derek.  Then he double checked the lock on his window, and trip  le   checked the lock on his door.  He didn’t need his Dad walking in to find Derek Hale asleep in his son’s bed.  Turning off the main light, all that he left on was the lamp in the corner by his chair where he settled down with a book, content to finish out his job properly and watch over Derek for the rest of the night.  That’s what packs are for.   

   


He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but the sun woke him up later that morning.  At first he was confused as to why he was asleep in his chair, nothing else seemed out of place.  Then the events of last night came crashing back to him.  He slowly stood up, not sure if his aching muscles were from spending hours hunched over Derek’s injuries last night or from sleeping in the chair.  The blanket that had been draped across his shoulders and fell to the floor as he stood though, that was new.   

   


Now more awake, he glanced around the room and found no signs of the werewolf anywhere.  No shredded leather jacket remains hanging off the door knob.  No muddy boots, two sizes too big to be Stiles’s, by the closet.  His bed was made perfectly, much neater than he ever took the time to do himself.  Stiles walked closer, finding that it was made with clean sheets, a folded up note on the fresh pillowcase.   

   


_ I didn’t want to wake you up.  Sheets are in the washing machine, sorry about the mess.  Here’s a hundred, go get the interior of the Jeep cleaned.  On me.  And in case I forgot to say it last night:  Thank you, Stiles.  _

_\- D_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank’s for reading! Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you thought!
> 
> I'm considering writing a multi chapter fic where each chapter is based on a Stiles and Derek prompt sent in by you guys, hurt comfort ONLY, so if you have any ideas please let me know!!! :D


End file.
